


Love, In the Worst Way

by what_immortal



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-22 00:26:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9573812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/what_immortal/pseuds/what_immortal
Summary: Written for prompt on the kinkmeme: Moriarty has John and Sherlock captured and drugs Sherlock heavily to were he doesn’t seem aware of anything that’s going on. Then he commands John to rape Sherlock as he is and if he doesn’t then he himself will do it and even kill him afterwards. Shocked, but having no choice in the matter, John starts having his way with Sherlock who is in pain but still doesn’t seem aware what’s happening.They get rescued later and Sherlock wakes up in discomfort in the hospital, unaware why but glad to see him and John safe. A guilt-ridden John ponders for a moment if he should tell the truth before realizing he can’t keep this from Sherlock. The question is how.





	

drip. drip. drip. All John can think is did Sherlock leave the sink on again. His flatmate has a bad habit of not turning any of the appliances off, especially when he becomes rapt up in an experiment. He goes to get up but realizes he can’t. He can’t move his arms. He slowly opens his eyes, but it is so dark they were having trouble adjusting to the lack of light. Suddenly there was a bright light that came on with a sound like a kick of a switch on a generator, and then all John could think was…well fuck he cant think at all. All of his training and he's blank. He needs to concentrate.  
  
First things first. He realizes then that the reason he can’t move his arms is because he is tied to a chair. He looks around trying to take in his surroundings. Warehouse by the look of things, slightly damp and dirty, with only one overhead light on. He tries to see more but then stops, lying a few feet in front of him is Sherlock. His face is bruised and his breathing is shallow and uneven, he also seems to be murmuring. This is when John stops trying to think and begins to struggle, this is when he panics. He pulls so hard on his restraints that they bite into his skin and he can feel blood trickle down his wrist. He tries to get Sherlock’s attention but can’t. Himself being tied and kidnapped is one thing, but not Sherlock. Not his Sherlock. He needs to get out of here. He needs to get to Sherlock, he needs to get…That's when he hears the laughing.  


A maniacal laughter that John realizes later will haunt him in his sleep. That's when Jim Moriarty steps into view. “I wouldn’t do that John boy, your going to need your strength.”

That smile. Straight white teeth behind thin cruel lips. All John can think of is kicking those teeth in. He struggles again as Moriarty gets closer to Sherlock. “Oh don't worry John, he is sooo happily drugged right now I doubt he even knows his own name.”

  
Moriarty begins stroking Sherlock’s hair and then grabs a fistful of it to lift his head then promptly let it go, making Sherlock’s head make a soft thud as it hits the ground. John flinches at the noise. He can only pray Sherlock is truly dead to the world, he would give anything to keep him from what Moriarty is going to do to them.

“You care for him don’t you my dear Watson.”  
  
John is silent and un-moving, hating that Moriarty keeps calling him things Sherlock would, and trying desperately to think of a way out of this. Again his mind is brought to a halt when Moriarty pulls out a long thin stiletto knife.

“I’d answer me Johnny, if you know whats good for you. So…?”

  
When John still doesn’t answer Moriarty pulls Sherlock’s head up again and puts the knife to his throat. John almost screams the answer through his panicking. “Yes…! He says, throat clogging with fear.  


“Yes what?”  


“Yes I care for him.”  


“Good. I’m going to make this very simple for you…"

John flinches again as he tries to pull his hands through the cuffs, he knows for a fact nothing involving that man is ever simple. Moriarty unfortunately sees the movement and pulls out a gun shooting right by Johns head.  
  
"Now don’t do that again dear Watson, your going to spoil my fun." He goes up to John shoving the gun barrel still hot from the recent firing right under his chin and straddles John’s lap. He would have tried to buck him off if his legs where not also tied to the legs of the chairs.

  
Moriarty leans into Watson and puts those cruel lips close to his ear and begins to whisper ever so softly to him…

  
"I’m going to make this easy for you.” He breathes softly against Johns ear, and slightly grinds his hips into him to make sure he is listening while, all the while pushing the gun harder to his chin. “You have two choices. Either you go over there and rape the man you claim to care for, or not. However know this dear dear John, if you don't do it...I certainly will. I'll do it, but I’ll make you watch, and afterwards i'll slit his pale little throat.”

“Oh god no.” John breathes out.  


“Oh yes, as our little Sherlock would say..the game is on!”  


“I won’t do this.”  


“Oh, I believe you will, otherwise he’ll die, and I will let you live knowing you could have saved him.”  


John can feel his legs and wrists being untied as Moriarty says, “Now don’t try anything funny my dear, just like at the pool, I have many friends here.”  
  
To prove his point little lasers fill the room, covering his and Sherlock’s bodies, they promptly disappear with a wave of Moriarty’s hand.  


“Now, what will it be.”

“I can't do this.”

“Oh well then.” Moriarty says shrugging his shoulders as he moves behind Sherlock and begins to yank down his black trousers.

“Stop!”  
  
John rushes forward and the lasers appear again.  


“Alright, god…alright i'll do it.“ John breathes out through clenched teeth and an even tighter chest, "but you stay the hell away from him.”

Moriarty just smiles and begins to step into the shadows making it appear as if John and Sherlock were alone. John kneels down next to Sherlock and strokes his hair and face hoping and praying for a way out of this.   


“Sherlock. Sherlock can you hear me. God, Sherlock please.”  


Sherlock just continues to mumble, his eyes shooting this way and that under his eyelids. John knows Sherlock isn’t going to wake up anytime soon. Though he is not sure if that makes him feel better or worse about this. John slowly takes off his jacket and jumper, balling the latter up and placing it under Sherlock’s head, and putting the jacket over his back.  


“Awe how sweet,” Moriarty says in that annoying high pitch of his, then talking regularly again says, “Now get on with it!”

John takes one last look at Sherlock’s bruised yet lovely face then slowly moves behind him. He gently unbuckles Sherlock’s belt, and pulls his pants just below his arse, trying to keep him covered and out of Moriarty’s view as much as possible. Then with shaky hands begins to undo his button and fly. He pulls Sherlock against him making Sherlock’s knees bend slightly. When he is sure Sherlock will stay in that position, he begins to stroke himself trying to get hard.

  
After a few long agonizing moments of tugging and pulling all the while praying for a way out he is finally is able to get up. When he goes to lick his fingers so he can at least make this easier on Sherlock Moriarty barks again in that high voice. “None of that deary.”  


“But...”  


“Did I say sleep with, fuck, make love to, NO! I said RAPE!”

  
Even if he can’t prepare Sherlock John will be damned if he is going to ram in him dry, so in one stealth move he takes his already slick fingers and strokes himself again to at least have some sort of lubricant to ease the way. Sherlock flinches as John slowly enters him, his body taking the pain even if his mind is too lost to realize it. John has the sickening realization that he'll have to pull out and push in incrementally in order to become fully seated and to prevent as much tearing as possible. He makes a few gut wrenching yet pleasure inducing thusts before he makes one last thrust and is all the way inside Sherlock. He takes a few deep breaths to steady himself and begins to thrust slowly trying to let Sherlock adjust as much as possible while keeping his chest against Sherlock’s back trying to almost shield him from the others with his body.

  
“Bored now, either go faster or I take over, and we both know that I will do so much worse.” Moriarty practically sings from the joy of watching this.

  
With a whispered 'I’m sorry' to Sherlock John begins fast hard thrusts into him. Several minutes pass and John is ashamed to feel the tell tale tightness in his stomach and his balls clenching right as he comes. Thrusting hard and losing himself in the sensations John comes. He can't tell if it is from his growing hysteria, or the orgasm he just had but he swears he heard Sherlock murmur his name and then groan noisily. John slowly begins to pull out of Sherlock and flinches as he sees blood on him. He covers them both as Moriarty walks over. “Ah what a show. I do hope we see each other again very soon.”  


“I don't know how, but I will kill you for this!” John practically screams.  


“That's so elementary my dear Watson,” and with that Moriarty departs.  


*  


When Lestrade finally finds John and Sherlock he is not sure what to make of the sight he sees. Sherlock appears to be asleep in a ball on his side with one of John’s jumpers tucked under his head, and John’s jacket over him; while John is sitting in a corner his knees to his chest, his arms around himself almost like he is scared to move either closer or further from Sherlock. As the M.E.’s come in and put Sherlock on a stretcher Lestrade goes over to John.  
  
“John, you alright?”

  
John barley looks up and says "Fine. I’m fine..”

  
Lestrade helps John up and puts him in the ambulance with Sherlock, and watches as it pulls away. He thinks that he will never be able to forget John’s eyes at that moment. It’s as if his very soul was ripped out of him.  


*  


Sherlock wakes up slowly, and realizes through extremely foggy eyes he is in a hospital. As his focus becomes more clear he realizes John is with him in the room and is looking as though he just heard his mother had died. When Sherlock goes to shift himself up to sit more comfortably he realizes he is extremely soar. Not just soar on his legs and arms, but in other areas as well. Odd he thinks but before he could ponder more on it John says “Your awake.”  


If Sherlock thought John looked bad his voice was even worse, dry and low, and full of what Sherlock believes is self loathing.  


“It appears I am.”  


“ Good that,…that’s good. I’ll just go get a doctor then.”  


“John.”  


John stops dead. What is he going to do, he knows he has to tell Sherlock but how. How do you tell your best friend that you, you…god he couldn’t even think it.

 

“John, are you alright?”  


“Fine, fine, just fine.”  


*  


As the doctor tries to talk to him Sherlock notices that John seems uncomfortable. He moves from the chair to the door, to the window and back to the chair, but also, Sherlock deduces, never any closer to him.

*

As the doctor goes over the trauma Sherlock’s body has sustained he can’t help but blanch when the doctor mentions the tearing in his rectum. When the doctor leaves John risks a glace at Sherlock, who honestly seems pretty damn calm about what he just heard. If he had woken up form a drug induced coma with bruises and lacerations and a torn rectum he would look a hell of a lot more panicked. Dammit why wasn’t Sherlock panicking?  


*  


Sherlock remained calm about everything. He already knew that after he and John were taken that he was not going to walk away without a few war wounds thanks to Moriarty, but it was the way that John kept fidgeting, limping as he walked, and then when he stilled when he heard Sherlock’s rectum had been torn that made Sherlock try to stay even calmer. They didn’t need two bloody people in hysterics now did they.  


“John?” John turns to Sherlock

“John, why don’t you have a seat, I thing your leg could use..."  


"Damn my leg! Sorry..sorry I...”  


John sits and puts his head in his hands  


“John, look at me.”  


John risks a small glance upward.  


“Truly, I’m fine, so will you please stop...”  


“Sherlock..” John says cutting him off. “Sherlock I need to, I need, Oh god, I need to tell you something. Something that happened while we where kidnapped.”

 

“Alright,” Sherlock says gesturing for him to continue. He would agree to hear anything at this point if it would take John out of his hysterics.

  
“ When Moriarty had us at that warehouse and you were, when you were drugged he, he….”

  
“John?”

 

“He…”  


As John proceeded to tell Sherlock everything, the threats, the lasers, the knife, the...rape, everything, Sherlock just stared at him in that calm Holmesian way where you didn’t know what was going to happen. After he finished there was a long, long pause in which Sherlock just looked him, John realized then that he had tears running down his face.

  
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Sherlock. I’ll go, I’ll move out, and then i’ll, i’ll, turn myself into Lestrade, you’ll never have to see me again I promise…..”

  
As John got up to leave the room Sherlock said “John, stop.”

John paused at the door, not sure what to do. He wanted to scream, cry,…die.  


“John, look at me.”  


John turned around slowly but didn’t raise his face to Sherlock’s.  


“Look at me.” When John’s eyes finally met Sherlock’s he saw something there he never thought he would. Understanding.  


“I don’t want you to go. I don’t want…”  


Sherlock stammered a bit not use to expressing emotion.  


“I don’t want to lose you. This was not your fault.”  


John went to say something but Sherlock cut him off. “It wasn’t your fault John!”

And in a very Sherlock fashion, uncomfortable with the tense emotion Sherlock smiled, brushed the incident aside and said “Besides, who else could deal with me as a flatmate.”


End file.
